Day and Night
by Cassandra Connelly
Summary: At last, the two hostages were freed and the mystery of Misthallery resolved. Needless to say: Clark Triton was more than grateful for that.
1. At Day

This two-shot came to me when I realized that there one of most favorite pairings are underrepresented in the fandom. And yes: even if my other stories have undertones and implications of this couple, I figured I might as well make something that was focused on Clark and Brenda. This chapter is slightly risqué,but still relatively safe for work. The chapter that rose the rating, however, is the second one. But don't worry. It's not terribly explicit (at least, not in my opinion). Enjoy!

* * *

He first went to Doland, since Luke had ran straight for his mother's arms the moment he laid eyes on her. The child cried, sobbed and hugged her in the corner of the father's eyes. But that was alight. He had something to do in the meantime. Clark hugged his trusted butler and friend in that familiar way with a slight pat on his shoulder.

"You did a good job," he told his employee. "Thank you for waiting. And keeping her safe when I couldn't."

"I am sorry master," Doland answered. "I just wish I could have done more."

The head of the house shook in disagreement and broke the hug.

"You did what you could, Doland. There's no shame in that."

"Thank you, master" the butler replied. "I greatly appreciate your kindness."

_Really... the one who should be saying that should have been me_, Clark thought. The old family butler, who had helped Clark's father raise Clark and was now helping Clark raise his son. Truly: a kind-heated soul. He had a way with children and for a moment Clark wondered if Luke thought of him like the grandfather that he could have had if he hadn't passed away when the child was barely able to walk. It was strange, thinking about his father at a moment like this. But Clark still wondered. About how his own father would have handled the situation at Misthallery. Would he do the same mistakes as him? Would be fare better? Worse? Ah, his curiosity was never going to be quenched, was it? Or maybe**…** maybe it was. Maybe it was like his wife once told him: when you suddenly remember those that have left, they are smiling down at you from heaven. Clark Triton didn't know for a fact if it was possible or even if such thing as 'heaven' even existed, much less if his father was considered 'good' enough to enter it. But it still brought a smile to his lips to think of it.

"I really should give you a raise or something nice like that, Doland" the man with the beard commented "Perhaps a good vacation? I really don't know how to thank you for your excellent work."

Doland shook his head and gave the man a quite paternal pat on his back. Like the one his father gave him when he told him he had finished writing the core of his thesis and only needed to work on the finer details. Did the butler also feel his old master's presence right then and felt inclined to repeat that action?

"I think that I shall leave you to madam Brenda" the butler changed the subject in his usual and calm voice. "It seems that the young master has finished talking to her."

He turned to where his son and his wife were hugging and crying together, only to find that she was now left alone and she was wiping her teary eyes. But even if she had tears lining the edges of her large and dark eyes, she was laughing like a girl in an amusement park.

"Here, master" the butler handed him a clean handkerchief from his seemingly never-ending supply. "You might need this."

Clark smiled at Doland before taking the handkerchief and giving him a friendly pat. Was it out of his volition? Influence from the defunct Everett Triton? Did it really matter? Of course not. What mattered was now. And how she was feeling. Clark knew that Doland had fared well but Brenda**…** he had to know. Even if she took things well, he had to verify it personally. It was the least he could do for her. But not before saying to his faithful friend and butler a simple and undeniable truth: "You're a good man, Doland."

Clark walked up to her, and gently pressed the handkerchief against her delicate eyes. Naturally, his wife was surprised, but she still smiled at him and tried to say something. Most likely her thanks. But no. He couldn't wait. Even if he had told himself that he had to ask how she had been, Clark couldn't resist a second longer. He had to give her something that he had been longing to give her for the longest of times. And even if she might have felt confused or upset at his sudden action, any attempt to hold back would literally drive him to insanity. If it didn't already do so, of course.

Clark dived into her soft pink lips and parted them with his. The action was so simple, so basic that he was almost surprised. As if he had been expecting there to be a great barrier between them that would prevent it. But no. It had happened. And it came easily. The bearded man couldn't feel anymore glad. In that kiss he expressed all of his feelings much better than any about of words could have. How much he missed her, how worried he had been for her. The sleepless nights, the empty hours in the day. Anguish at the thought of losing their child at the hands of the self-proclaimed scientist. But most of all: how he was still almost maddeningly in love with her.

And she replied back. Even if she had a wider fan of words, similes and experiences than anybody that her husband knew: she still answered back to him with her own kiss. She even closed her eyes, like a protagonist from those schmaltzy novels that her friend loved to read and she never stopped to poke fun at. Ironic, but truly: Brenda didn't care what could be thought of her because of it. And it showed in her kiss. Clark could also feel her kiss tell him many other things: that she had held him and their son in her thoughts through the worse parts of it. She had faith that they would come out soon enough. And yes: she still loved him. In fact, her feelings might have grown even stronger in the absence: given the way that her body seemed to overflow with a familiar sensuality that she had always kept strictly in the bedroom. Ah, her sweet and soft lips were really getting the man quite riled up.

After the kiss was broken, Brenda ran one her soft hands through his hair. Her eyes had that gleam of happiness and joy and love that just seeing them made him fall in love with her even more. He felt her dive even deeper into his soft heart and refuse to leave it anytime soon. This, mixed with the raw desire that had been bubbling for far too long, gave the man a burning sensation on his chest. Was his heart bursting? No. No he was feeling perfectly fine. Better than ever. So his heart was fine. A shot of chemical compounds right on his blood stream, a scientist would say. One of love's thorns digging into him like a soft hand holding a wild rose, a poet would say. But to Clark, he could only describe it as being smitten by the woman before him. And with good reason, too. After all there is no greater aphrodisiac known to man than to see the person that you love the most look at you in the eye and their love for you making their own glitter in the sunlight surrounding you.

Ah, he would have loved to right there right then to caress that lovely spot between her neck and her collarbone. Hear her sigh and give in underneath his hands. To lay her down on the tender grass and make love until they were too exhausted to even moan their names in the soft afterglow. But no, he had reserve. His friend and his assistant were watching, not to mention that Luke was present as well. He could hear that his son was almost done with his reunion with the butler. So as much as he was tempted, he held back. Clark wanted his son to not directly witness the complete potential of the love a person could feel for another until he was ready. To discover that at his own pace, with his own beloved.

His hand mimicked hers and he could feel his fingertips brush against her hairs. She chuckled slightly, abruptly self-conscious.

"I think that I'll have to take a long shower and then a bath," she joked "I feel like someone from the seventeenth century."

"Oh, you know I love you: witch trials and all."

Brenda chuckled and gave him a playful shove. Clark smiled along and allowed the exchange of reunions continue. Brenda turned her eyes to Hershel and immediately stroke a conversation. Seamlessly. As if there hadn't been a spark between them just a few seconds ago. But he could see in that quick glance in his direction that it had been real. And that she had no intention of letting that spark go to waste. But Clark wasn't worried about that. After all: he knew very well that he'd have her all to himself later on. Once the sun set, once Luke was tucked in bed, once she had bathed and they were underneath the covers. The thought made his stomach do an excited flip.


	2. At Night

By the time Hershel and his company left for the hotel, Luke was already falling under the sandman's spell. Doland, being the kind soul that he was, offered to carry him to his room. Which meant that Clark could have more time with her.

As he laid there, looking at the ceiling, he was still thinking about the events. That morning, he had woken up in a stiff, cold bed. His prospects dim and any chance at things turning out for the better practically nonexistent. Hershel hadn't been able to deduce where his wife and butler were and his hands were tied up even more by the shadowy man that pulled the strings of Misthallery in order to prevent any more troubles. But now that things had been cleared up, that Luke and Hershel and Emmy had stood up against him and managed to thwart him… Now that Clark had thanked Hershel as many times as he could, now that Luke was going to finally have a dutiful sleep without any nightmares and without having to call out into the night for his mother, now that Brenda was in that bathroom: cleaning her body from the accumulated grime and sweat… Now things started to finally settle down and create an image in his mind. An image of peace. Of rest. And yes, even if there were bound to have many issues in the future and reconstruction work would take several months to finish… he really felt that things were all going to turn out for the better.

The sound of running water stopped. And it was then that the man wondered. How would it be like, to be the towel that got to gently touch her skin as she emerged from the clean water? To be the brush that ran through her soft and damp curls? To be the nightgown that enveloped her body with a light touch? How would it be like, to do all of these seemingly routinely actions? Ah, he could almost imagine it. Her wet skin shedding its moisture away, her hairs becoming untangled through his fingers, his own body wrapping around her and keeping her warm and safe. Even through a door, she was still mesmerizing him. Unwittingly casting a spell on him and making him a flustered, blushing man that was probably getting too excited a bit too soon.

The bathroom door opened. And she came out, dressed in that soft linen nightgown he had given her. The husband grinned. Oh, he could see her soft curves underneath those delicate and simple clothes. It was like covering a diamond in a velvet box. the box itself was wonderful, but anybody with some knowledge of the world would overlook the box for the diamond within. She grinned back at him and laid next to him. Not at the respectful distance that she normally took, on 'her side' of the bed. No: she was close. Tentatively and oh so temptingly close. Like a siren calling to him from the rocks. Clark reached to brush his fingers through her soft hair. It was like touching the soft petals of a rose. She had brushed her hair and cleaned it thoroughly, he noticed. Was she that embarrassed of what happened that morning? Ah, she was such a curious one. Sometimes uncaring about what the world had to say with such a delightful brazenness, other times so shy and modest about herself that just made her oh-so adorable. But he still loved her and regardless of how she acted, she was still incredibly irresistible. How he loved running his hand through all of her! Loving her being, feeling her body. It was intoxicating, but Clark didn't care. Oh no, it was too good, too right. Too perfectly devised to be wrong.

Her soft hands brushed against his face, his beard, ever so gently: ever so seductively. Her light touch rousing him far more than any other person's touch, even his own. And being so delightfully teased, oh God: he loved it. He loved anything she had in store in him. Brenda's dark eyes were bright in the half-light and he could see in them once again all of her love; irradiating from her like the delicate scent of a flower that graced the Earth by merely blooming and existing. And he could feel it. He could feel it and he wanted more. All of her. Even if that was impossible. Even if he knew that there will always be parts that he'd never see of her. He wanted, longed, like a child that chased after blue birds and butterflies.

Ah. They could feel it. Just a few loving and light touches weren't enough. It was time. He leaned close to her and kissed that wonderful spot between her neck and her collarbone. He could hear-_feel_- her breathing hitch. She was always so sensible there. Just a slight graze of his lips was enough to get her eager. It was such an incredibly convenient spot, she had resorted to make up and blouses that covered that area to hide from public eyes how the Mayoress of Misthallery would melt in rapture if one were to direct their attention to that place for long enough. Clark tried to not use it, since it was almost like cheating. But now, now he didn't care if he was cheating or not. He wanted her to feel all of the sensations that she rained on him almost without any effort. Make her quiver and shake as they both brought each other to their knees.

And she had noticed. Which was why her voice came out in a soft and adorable whisper.

"Clark…" not quite the beginning of a sentence. Just his name on her lips. Ah, this was so much like her. She was quite well-spoken when under normal circumstances, but under these circumstances: under the half-light that only he ever saw her… she was so quiet and shy at first. As if scared to let loose. And no matter how often he had told her that it was alright, that it was nobody's business if she was a modest wife or not: she always seemed to start this way. But in a way, it gave him satisfaction to hear her demure behavior break down. To see her face light right up and allow all sorts of words escape her.

He nuzzled her and allowed himself to slip into a daze. A daze that her reactions got him into. A daze that was warm and comforting.

"Brenda…" he muttered. Not quite her name on his lips, but a beginning of a sentence. "Brenda, I love you."

God, he could say that until he was blue in the face and it still wouldn't be enough. He'd say those perfect three words, over and over: so much that they would sound strange on his lips but their meaning wouldn't be lost to them.

"M-me too. I love you, Clark." she answered back. Her voice soft and gentle and just perfect: like all of her. And even if she was still starting, it seemed to him that she was trying to be even more warm and open to him from the beginning. It was like touching a sensible spot. He felt energy jolt down his spine and his body tense up in delight.

It was impossible to resist her anymore. He kissed the rest of her body through her nightgown. Her shoulder, her collarbone, her breast; it didn't matter where just as long as he had her. And she reacted to his kisses. She'd giggle and gasp and moan an run her hands through him and mutter his name over and over again as if she were in the middle of her most private fantasy. But this wasn't a fantasy. It was reality. Glorious, true reality. Clark would have felt guilty at getting her covered in their sweat and passion right after she had bathed her body so thoroughly. Ah, but her breathing on his ear was too distracting to think a about. Even she didn't seem to care as she eagerly returned his gestures, too taken by impulse to even bother thinking about her body reacted to what her mind had almost forgotten during the time she had been separated from him.

"Brenda," he breathed after kissing her lips once more. "Let's…let's have another child."

And for a moment, it was like the spell was broken. She blinked at him. Yes, they always wanted to have more than one child. After Luke was born, they decided to postpone it until he was old enough to walk. And then, when he would start going to school. By then, they began to experiment in other ways to express their love. Ways that didn't quite "hit the mark", so to speak. Perhaps that was why she was surprised at his proposal. But her surprise gave way to that radiant smile of hers that made his blood rush to his face.

"Yes! Let's! As many times as it takes. Today, tomorrow**…** please, Clark. I**…** " she leaned close to his lips, not quite touching them with her own, but close enough to feel their heat. "I want it."

And he was once more under the trance that had been between them. He took her head and kissed her lips. So long that he struggled to think or breathe. But he couldn't bring himself to break apart from her. From his wife. From this delightful woman. From Brenda, the one that he wanted her to feel unparalleled and eternal joy. One of his hands wandered down to her thigh and reached for her flower. It was soft, delicate even. A deceitfully fragile place that he knew better than to underestimate. She gasped and unconsciously pressed herself down on him. Or was that consciously? Ah, it was impossible to tell. Even when her eyes were half-lidded, they still shone with their usual intelligence. Did his eyes also do that, he wondered? Did she also wonder if he was acting deliberately or on impulse?

Clark didn't even bother to take her nightgown off. He just pushed it out of the way. Brenda let out a giggle. Nervousness? Excitement? He could only reach for her smiling lips and kiss them. He kissed her lips once more, like on that glorious afternoon. He parted them with his own and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Or was it his own blood the one that was rushing to his cheeks? Both. Both were blushing. Both were burning up inside.

Her fists balled as she gripped the bedsheets. Oh God, her beautiful eyes were gleaming and the voice that escaped her lips could have easily been called indecorous. But it wasn't. Not to him. No: it was far more beautiful than any melody from the birds that nestled outside the house. Far more pure than a crystal vial. And it was all because of him. She was in this state because of him and that thought was enough to make him break down where every other thing had failed. And this time, each other's names were their lips. His an overwhelmed murmur that came as a pleasant surprise, hers a yell that cared not if they would wake anybody else up. Really after the initial sensations were gone, Clark felt quite glad that their home was on the outskirts of town and Luke slept heavier than a hibernating bear. Else the aftermath would have been incredibly embarrassing.

But while he was already thinking about more landed and practical things, she was gently pecking his neck. Needless to say, he was distracted from his former thoughts and brought back to her.

His hands caressed the frame of her face. Putting it to memory. To never forget her. To remember that she was the one that he had vowed to protect from then on.

No matter who stood on the way.


End file.
